


Born this way

by LelaMael



Series: Heartbeat-verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternativ Universe - Canon, Gen, Hurt Derek, Insights, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unusal point of view, deaton is awesome, new ways, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelaMael/pseuds/LelaMael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you escape something you've been born with? What can you do against your innate instincts? If you have never learned to be something else? Chris Argent, Alan Deaton and Derek Hale, one night, insights, views. No one should be juged by his cover. [Heartbeat-Verse]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born this way

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. This is a translation of one of my german works for Teen Wolf. It's the first of three finished stories and the first of many more sleeping in my mind. As always for a warning, I am not a native speaker and I also didn't had a beta reader for this. So if you are interested to beta read my stories just let me know. Also let me know if there are any big mistakes. And now ... have fun. :)

It's not uncommon for Deaton to have a werewolf on his table. The table on which he otherwise treats the animals of his customers. In fact, it's not even worth mentioning. For a few month he probably felt like he treats more werewolves than actual dogs. Since Scott has been bitten, since Gerard is hunting in the city again and since … since Derek is the alpha of the Hale-pack.

Since Kate is dead.

It's probably not uncommon that _you_ are the reason why a werewolf is lying on said table. But there is a different meaning in being the reason this time. _You_ didn't hurt Derek, you are not the reason for his injuries, you are the one who brought Derek here to be treated.

That _is_ uncommon.

“Will he make it?” you ask into the tense silence. Deaton just raises his head, one eyebrow cocked and you call yourself a fool. Derek is not a man, not only a human, he is a _werewolf_ and probably not even near death. Nevertheless there is worry in Deaton's eyes.

Concern about a werewolf. A few month ago you might had been laughing about it. Amused and a little irritated.

Today this laughter is stuck in your throat, it bounces in your throat with nausea and you ask yourself whether you're hallucinating or perhaps in a coma.

Maybe both. If that is possible.

It's like you're sitting in one of those little carousels on a playground and someone had pushed it up to top speed. Your life turns and changes so quickly that you lose track. Sometimes you feel dizzy about how fast.

Derek's conscious, he's curled up on his side, grimacing in pain. Your gaze is resting on him, you recognize every little movement, every tiny line of pain. The half-closed eyelids, under which red eyes are glowing, the nose, that he's scrunching like he has picked up a particularly bad scent. The strange, sluggish, hardly controlled movements of his hands whenever Deaton touches a wound.

There is a _lot_ of blood. The werewolf's blood. His own as well as that of the betas he's protected and the alphas whom he fought. If you hadn't seen it yourself, you wouldn't believe it. You never imagined Derek Hale as someone who put himself in front of others protectively. There is a tiny voice in your head that is telling you that you've been wrong.

Wrong about Derek, about Scott, perhaps about your _whole_ life.

Derek is trembling. Not only his hands, his arms. No, also his whole body. His shoulders are hunched up, rolled forward and you almost feel the pain that is attached to this position. He looks a little bit like a frightened dog. He couldn't be further from it.

You breathe in and out to get the blazing hatred and anger in your veins back under control. What right do you have to be angry at someone who protects his pack with his life and uses what he has to defend them: teeth and claws. You know that Victoria has attacked Scott as well as Derek and that Derek has just defended them both, trying to rescue Scott. Wouldn't you do the same? And the difference between bullets and arrows to claws and teeth isn't that big when it comes down to the results.

They're all _deadly_.

Something has changed. You can't put your finger on it, but you also can't deny it. You've ultimately brought Derek here – instead of putting a bullet to his head to finish him, as you would have done a few weeks ago. You would have cut him into pieces and buried him covered with wolfsbane.

That's the past. You'll get used to the new times.

You had a code, something what you've believed in. You hunters claim that you are different to those beasts you hunt. _We hunt those who hunt us._ In recent month you've not necessarily acted that way. You've hunted, tortured and killed innocent people. Not you in particular but your family. The line that separates you from the werwolves is fine, very fine and sometimes you have crossed them. They started to blur. Perhaps you have crossed it too often. Perhaps there is no line but only black sheep on both sides. The idea that your family is one of those bad seeds leaves you stunned and speechless .. and hurt. In too many ways to really speak it out.

Your heart picks up speed at the thought of your wife, of Victoria, who died in your arms, from _your_ hands and Derek holds his breath. His body tenses as he's ready to jump. Highly alerted you take a step towards him, but Deaton holds you back with a hand raised. To calm you and to sooth Derek.

“Calm down,” is all he says. He doesn't look at Derek although his other hand is resting on his shoulder reassuringly. His gaze is with you. Sincere and … worried. There is no longer just the concern about a werwolf but about a fight he isn't able to control. About a fight he wouldn't be able to prevent and instead has to stand by helplessly. Although Deaton is far from defenseless.

You nod. Breathing like Derek. Try to calm down your heartbeat. Derek's head moves, he turns it a little. Not to look at you, but to hear you better. Suddenly you realize that your heartbeat maybe sounds like a thunder for him. Right now Derek is a wounded predator, all his senses working on high level. Trapped, unable to escape or attack, squeezed into a small space between two heartbeats and unable to shut them out. Derek is dangerous himself, in his own way more dangerous than any other werwolf you've ever met. Here and now even more. He doesn't have much to lose and the remaining things he will defend with everything he has.

You take a sudden step backwards, abuts the wall, feel its cold in your back. It seeps through your clothes and gives you a point to focus on.

Derek's view is following you. Red eyes, tired and shrouded in pain. He holds your look for a second before he blinks and his eyes are green again.

Human eyes. Where you can find so much more than you ever wanted to concede to a werewolf. You've always been one of those who advocates that you couldn't simply hunt and slaughter these creatures. You had a code. _Damn it_. You know that Kate has broken the code and Victoria has not always kept it in mind. Sometimes, in quiet minutes you are somehow grateful that she's gone. You don't know who long you would have get along with her cruelty and coldness. Whether you had to keep your little girl safe. Perhaps one becomes like Victoria after holding the power over an entire family for a long time. You don't know and with everything you are, you hope that you'll never find out. That you'll never know.

Victoria is dead. Gerard is out of action … and you barley waste a thought about him. Allison has escaped from his clutches. Just in time. You had to watch your little girl how she acted mercilessly and without conscience … against creatures and humans. She had shoot arrow after arrow and with each you jumped like you were the one who had felt it. She grew up within a few breathes. Without a chance to prevent it.

“You should understand one thing.”

You need a moment to realize that Deaton speaks to you. Although he doesn't look at you. He's still facing Derek and triggers his natural healing powers with new injuries. On another point in life you would’ve been jealous about those healing powers. But not now.

If you would forget everything that the two of you have been born with you aren't that unlike. Both of you would go through hell to protect your families, … your pack. Does it matter what you call something you love? Would you have met under different circumstances, you're not sure whether you'd be enemies now.

You hear the werewolf whine. Actually and really whine. Like a dog that is hurt. You are silent, don't know what to say. Waiting for Deaton to explain.

“You've _chosen_ to become a hunter. If you don't want to be that anymore one day, you can turn around and walk away. Just get out of this life and into a new one. No one will hold you back. You are only committed to yourself and your daughter.”

As he speaks Deaton wanders around the table and Derek slowly, until he finally stops behind him. His hands rest on Derek’s back, his gaze lingering over Derek's face. You snort softly.

“You say so? What do you know?” you whisper so quietly that Deaton surely wouldn't get it. But the werewolf gets you. You see how he raises his head, only a little bit, like a dog who has become aware of a noise. You almost laugh as he also tilts his head to the side. It's only missing that he bends a ear. He looks at you from below, eyes again red with pain.

You get aware off something that has been lurking at the edge of your mind for years. Something that your family couldn't ever understand. Even if there are hundreds of werwolves out there who have earned your hunt, there are still much more of them who haven't. Most of them don't even know who or what they are when they get bitten or grow up. You hunt no beasts, you hunt frightened children and teenagers. Frightened adults and ...

“How to get rid off something, that you have been born with?” Deaton asks into the silence while he turns Derek onto his back, gently but firmly. The werewolf breathes – calmly and in control. Against the pain, against the reflex to defend himself against you and against the need to attack Deaton. The growl that escapes his throat is dark, heavy and rough. Like a wolf, who's snarling violently. But he doesn't attack, he doesn't even change.

Years of training you suspect.

Or trust.

Although Derek isn't trusting anyone. At least you've never met anyone who owns his trust. Perhaps that's just the way one becomes if one loses the entire family before having the chance to grow up.

Derek still looks at you with large, again green eyes. He still acts as if he is on the edge to jump. You can guess that it's not through the healing process or pain. He has an eye on you, waiting for your next move. Like a cornered animal. A wolf waiting for the last attack with teeth bared and bloody flanks.

“Relax, Derek. Concentrate on me,” Deaton mutters gently and you see Derek closing his eyes, lowering his head on the table and breathes.

“So, Chris, how do one drop something one is born with?” Deaton repeats his question.

You don't know exactly what he's pointing on, but you have the vague feeling that you'll find out soon. You feel reminiscent of Gerard who has seduced you with stories that sold you his version of the truth. But Deaton _isn't_ Gerard, will never be him. Even if you have not figured out who he really is. And why he is here and helping.

Derek turns his face to you, his nose moves, like a dog receiving a track. It looks natural, unaware and so deeply rooted in Derek's normal behavior that you suddenly realize what Deaton just said.

“I couldn't change the fact that my skin is dark, even if I wanted to. I was born this way. Just as with my brown eyes and my talent, my gift.”

You understand.

 _Finally_.

You are absolutely sure that one can see the horror on your face, that one can smell it. It penetrates every pore of your body. Derek abruptly opens his eyes, turns his head again, facing you. Like he wants to assess you, estimate you. Deaton also looks at you before he again turns to his work. The next moment Derek rebels against him, roars, his fangs clearly visible. His howl deafening.

With two steps you stand next to the metal table. Before you even recognize what you do, your hands are on Derek's shoulders and you push him back into a lying position.

“It's okay. You are … safe. No one will hurt you here. Deaton only wants to help you.”

Even in your ears your words sound ridiculous, but you apply a calming pressure on Derek's shoulder and ask yourself since when you are like this with werewolves. Since when you treat them like _this_. Especially with this particular one, who should get a bullet to his head from you, because he killed your wife. Honestly. That would probably solve a lot of your problems. You again ignore the small voice in your head telling you that your problems would start to _grow_ even more without Derek.

You _certainly_ should rethink your priorities. Instead you are murmuring soft words without precise context and meaning. Just to calm the werewolf in front of you. Deaton looks at you, you feel his gaze, the astonishment in it but you don't look up for a second, you don't break the eye contact with Derek.

Derek's gaze holds yours, he's watching you, every breath, every lip movement. Everything. Motionless. You can see how he thinks. Wonders what you plan and why you are doing no effort to kill him.

“I won't hurt you.”

You feel ridiculous with this promise and yet there suddenly this soothing tone is in your voice, the words slipped over your lips before you can think again. In the end it doesn't even matter anymore. You are way behind your point of return. You've been over it for month.

Derek growls, whines immediately afterward. Like he couldn't decide whether he want to threaten you or to howl within pain. Maybe both at once. You are amazed at how well you know this feeling.

“Derek has been _born_ this way, Chris. He never decided to be a werewolf. You can make up your mind, decide that you don't want to be a hunter anymore. Although it would be difficult for you. But Derek … _he can't_.”

Deaton keeps working as he speaks. Calm and without haste. He's right, you know. You've known for years. Some things are just the way they are, there is no “if” and no “but” and certainly no choice in any way. Family for example, parents, siblings. Eye color and height. Native speaker or freckles.

You just nod. You try not to show how much these simple sentences impress you. Oppress you maybe. They change nothing about who Derek is or what he has done. But they do change the way you deal with it.

“Maybe Derek isn't the alpha his pack needs or deserves. He may not have Scott's honor or Peter's manipulative skills or Stiles' courage. Maybe he even isn't a good person, but ...” Deaton visibly swallows and you know that he is about to speak out a truth for that Derek would probably rip his throat out under normal circumstances.

“But if you remember what he has been through, what he experienced, you'll see that he had his reasons for his actions. If you understand where he's from and that it was never on the table that he's an Alpha at all … What he has lost, if you get that all ...” again Deaton hesitates for a heartbeat. “Then he has done a good job, not worse than you'd expected him to. He's not a man, he's a wolf. _He was born that way._ ”

Deaton seems to have the urgent need to make that fact very clear to you. Born this way. A few month ago it would have sounded like the poor attempt of an excuse to you. That's not it. You both have been born the way you are. On different sides, with different destinies. And you two have another thing in common. You both weren't born to be an Alpha or a leader. Just like Derek you slipped into this role without being able to get away. Victoria is dead and Allison's too young to control the fate of your family.

Derek hesitantly relaxes under you still holding hands. You immediately feel it. He no longer wants to escape you.

“But he can't run and hide. And he doesn't want to. You can't run away from how you've been born. It'll always get back at you. Eventually it catches up with you.”

Deaton's right.

He's right and you know it. Even if Derek would want, he could not be a simple man. He can't just throw away his werewolf nature and walk away as if nothing had happened. He's never learned to be a normal person.

His whole behavior is screaming _wolf_.

The tilted head, the jerking upright because of noises, things that happen around him. The scenting. Derek moves with the natural presence of a wolf, he uses all his senses in everyday life, the way you breathe without having to think about it. He can't help it. Just as Scott who has not voluntarily thrown himself into the clutches of a werewolf. Or you who has been born into a hunter family.

These differences aren't insurmountable. You don't need to be enemies for ever. Not anymore.

Deaton slowly nods as if he could hear your thoughts, could read them from your face. Than he waves you to take a step back. Hesitantly you do it. And once you took your hands off Derek, you realize how warm he's to touch. The natural metabolism of a werewolf is much higher and more active than that of a human. With an injured werewolf even more, especially within the active healing phase. You watch as the tens of small and large wounds from the foreign alpha begin to close.

Derek rolls over on his side as soon as you don't hold him any longer. He curls up as far as possible, hides his head under one arm. Like a dog laying a paw on his snout.

Will you ever be able to stop comparing him to a dog?

You smile softly, totally inappropriate, but you can't do anything about it. Silently you and Deaton wait for Derek to sit again but he doesn't do anything else than breathing. Now and then he's trembling, his arms and legs move like a dog dreaming.

“You hunters claim to have a code, perhaps you should rethink it. The Hale family has protected this city. Not always and above all but they've done their best. Just because someone isn't the way you are doesn't automatically mean he's your enemy. “

Deaton washes his hands, dries them off carefully and slowly. His gaze wanders back and forth between Derek and you.

“Maybe you should think about what you teach your daughter, if you train her to hunt.” Deaton continues while finally helping Derek to sit up again.

“You two are more alike than you think.”

Whatever Deaton tries to do with his speech, why he is believing that he has a responsibility for Derek, he's doing great. You have a lot to think about.

You wait for Derek to sit on his own, his legs off the table and clutching it with both his hands to not lose balance. He's watching you from the corner of his eye, twists his lips as he would gnash his teeth. Again you raise your hands to assure him that you won't hurt him, that you are no danger to him today. Perhaps it is wiser to retreat for now. On another day, another time you maybe could talk about the things you've just come aware off.

“I'll be around,” you mumble. At the door you look back and catch Derek's gaze. Open and honest. Full of wonder.

You'll never be able to watch him again without thinking about your first dog who howled after you after you had to leave him at the shelter. Back when your parents decided that you had been old enough to hunt yourself. A dog would have been a distraction, to easily influenced by the beings you would hunt.

Tonight has not changed the world. At least not the whole big world, but your little one for sure.

Either you've lost your mind or you know are on the threshold of a change that has needed centuries to get through to a hunter. You don't know, but you're sure you'll figure it out. Fact is that Derek was the answer to your unspoken question. That's so absurd. If you hadn't learned that that whats left, when you rule out everything logical and explicable is the truth … you would declare yourself completely mad.

°°°°

Weeks later Allison is facing you in your office. You have just survived the newest attack of the supernatural with more luck and werwolf cleverness than you would prefer. She looks you right into the eyes while she determines your new code.

_We protect those who can not protect themselves._

Your time of hunting is over. You are about to set foot onto a new way, one with whom you can live much better, which feels more like yourself and after all finally right.

You'll never tell Derek or anyone else but that night at Deaton's practices has laid the center stone to this day and you are as proud as you've never been before. Proud of your daughter who is heralding this new ear. Proud of you and Scott and the whole pack. Proud to be a part of this. And a friend to one of the most interesting humans you've ever met.

No one is guilty of how he was born. Or was brought up. One can only work to a compromise. Sometimes … sometimes one learns the most among those, who have been know to be the greatest enemy. And sometimes one learns that those who one chases are more similar to one than believed.

You smile as Allison repeats the words and you promise yourself that one day you'll tell Derek. Tell him about what you've learned that night. And that's okay to be the way you are born.

That it is a good thing.

Until then you'll protect what he has given up.

His family, his city and the werewolves and people who had fought with or for him as he himself wasn't capable of.

You no longer are a hunter.

You are a keeper.

_(Last but not least you are Derek's keeper.)_


End file.
